“When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention to them. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die. Why do I say that? Partly because they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments.”
― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude
blooming right now in the garden, and the dog
“ If you pay attention, you’re filled with wonder, because who wouldn’t be, right? But we get so caught up in worrying, in being angry that we just, we don’t stop to marvel. And I think that if you walk through a neighborhood with a kid or a toddler, it’s just like, wait! Everything is fascinating. And I don’t want to let that go, because that’s a great gift. It grounds you.”
-Kate DiCamillo
In April I watched daily as the garden unfolded. My mood getting lighter with every bud opening. The birds arrived, hungry and demanding - so loud in the mornings that one of my neighbors made a comment to me. I let it slide, pretending it was her amazement and not a complaint. We spent a few days spreading two pick-up loads of compost around the yard and managed to fill 12 large garden-waste bags from Home Depot throughout the month. I spent my Tuesday mornings with Percy building “dino nation”, looking for bugs, reading books, and taking walks. I made margaritas and fish tocos with the Brandon and Courtney one Sunday, and there was a date night with Jordan, just the two of us out for dinner and a concert. But for some reason I could not wander into this space. I decided I needed to go silent for a bit hoping it might help me figure out if I was just burned out or maybe truly done.
May arrived and I was still on the fence as to what to do. I spent time making new Spotify lists, listening to lots of music. I read books, and cleaned out my podcasts library. I got the vegetable garden in and filled the deck with potted herbs and flowers. I cleaned out closets and drawers, making piles to take to shelters and the Goodwill. But mostly I slowed down, trying to remember what I filled my days with before the computer and my phone ruled my life. I started to take a short rest in the afternoon to read, or listen to one of the three podcasts I had left in my library. Sometimes I just sat with the dog in the sun and watched the birds in the yard, allowing my thoughts wander. Slowly I could feel a change taking place, I could feel myself walking into new territory. Territory I thought was long gone.
Lately I wake most mornings with a bit of melancholy along with plenty of gratitude. I think a lot about how this space (this crazy blog) has changed and morphed over the years. I have gone from posting every single day to saying goodbye. Over the years I have decided to let go of the doubts and the rules and just run with it, but somehow I always end up questioning the why, instead of embraceing it for the gift it is. For you see this space, this photo journal, holds so much of me in it. It has always been a place to record the beauty within my life, but I am just now understanding that the words I write often make sense only to me, and that is the true gift. For I am not here to sell anything, or to gather lots of followers, I am here to make sense of all the deep feelings I carry within my heart. Feelings that overwhelm me with sadness and heartache for sure, but mostly with amazement and wonder, and love.
So here I am, back again, thanking you for coming along.
“The beautiful spring came, and when nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also.”
― Harriet Ann Jacobs
I pick up my camera most days and watch spring unfold. Sometimes I set out with a real purpose in mind. But mostly I just wander.
In the time it takes for me to set my camera settings and focus, both my body and soul have revived themselves.
“Be joyful because it is humanly possible.”
— Wendell Berry
Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.
- May Sarton
Even though I wake to rain this morning, spring is here and it feels like one big happy pill. I notice straight away an arousal deep inside of me as I spend hours on my knees in the garden - cleaning out flower beds and pruning unruly shrubs. Come evening my body is sore in places that have been stagnate throughout the past winter months and I remind myself to slow down as there is no reason to hurry. I am here right now, and my job is to be present - to cultivate the sensations awakening within myself, and the garden.
"Play turns out to be stunningly essential in childhood it’s like love sunshine and broccoli all juiced together."
- Lenore Skenazy
Play is serious business and right now he will not stop play just to have his photo taken. So I have learned to be a bit sneaky. Here he checks on the worm he and Grandpa found while turning the garden beds, and watches the bubbles he blew float away. He is curious about everything. What does the worm think? What does he eat? Why are worms good for the garden? Why do the bubbles pop? What do the birds think about the bubbles that float in the trees? What are some bubbles big and some small? Why do they have all those colors in them? Can we go for a walk? Can we take Baker with us? What can I have for snack? Will Baker eat the worm? Why not? Can we look for bugs? Why do I have to put the worm back before I go home?
Just another fun Thursday with this boy. I feel like the luckiest Gramma in the world.
“When we endlessly ruminate over distant times, we miss extraordinary things in the present moment.
These extraordinary things are, in actual fact, all we have: the here and now.”
— Katherine May
Lately I find I haven’t much I want to say in this space. What I really want to do is post a few photos. So here are a few “here and now moments” from the last couple of months.